


On a Snowy Morning

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:19:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up in the Impala in the cold, Dean reminisces about past injuries that still hurt him to this day. (In a world where Cas hasn't healed him a million times.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Snowy Morning

He woke all at once, eyes open in the bright morning light, hand on his gun, muscles tight and ready to act, mind reeling from a fading dream of something chasing him.

When he realized he was in the familiar confines of the Impala, he took a deep breath.

Tucking his gun into the back of his jeans, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

He realized with dismay that the cold had woken him. Sometime in the night, snow started to fall and now a light dusting covered the windshield. The light bounced off every tiny flake making the inside of the car way too bright for Dean’s three hours of fitful sleep.

His whole body hurt. The soreness from sleeping in the cramped space, plus the tired muscles from the late night hunt was just the start of it. With the snow came the pulsing pain of dozens of old injuries, reminding him just how much his body had been through, and just how much it needed rest.

He longed for his memory foam mattress back in the bunker and a sardonic smile pulled the corner of his mouth when he realized: he was getting old. In his mid-thirties, Dean never thought he would make it far enough to feel the weather change in his bones.

If he had to be honest with himself, he had spent the past year, _every year_ , thinking it was his last. Thinking that this time, would be the time he didn’t make it out alive. He rubbed his right leg and tried to ease the twanging pain of the old break.

Leviathan, he thought with a scowl, and recalled how he had been out of commission for almost three months with a cast from his foot to his hip. Then his left shoulder called to him with the dull aching of each morning. It had been dislocated more times than he could count now, and Sam’s rough hit to put it back in place was practically routine. It sang with an angry red pain and Dean just prayed that he wouldn’t ever need his left hook to be as powerful as it was in his teenage years.

Speaking of being a teen, his first ever broken bone was a hunting injury he sustained at the ripe age of 15. A broken wrist which the doctor called a “boxer’s fracture.” The break was common for someone hitting stationary objects repeatedly, like a punching bag, or a human face--or a monster. Dean was benched for 6 excruciating weeks; jumping with eagerness to go out and kill another monster with his Dad. The wrist still bothered him occasionally, but on this morning, it was a weak throb compared to his other aching bones.

His ribs tore at him, panging with every breath, reminding him of each long-healed fracture, from being thrown into objects, from strategically placed boot kicks. He winced at the memories and shifted himself in the front seat, reaching behind him to pat Sam twice on the shoulder.

'C’mon Sammy, wake up,' he slurred slightly and grimaced as he tried to stretch his arms out over the dashboard.

He was hurting, more than he would care to admit, and he puffed a few shaky white breaths into the freezing air. As bad as sleeping in the car was for him, it had to be worse for Sam. His little brother had at least three inches on him and squishing his monstrous body into the backseat had to be brutal. Of course, the younger sibling could sleep anywhere, which was part of the job description, but he had to be hurting pretty bad this morning as well.

Dean wondered if Sam’s previous injuries hurt as bad as his did in the cold.

But neither brother complained. Maybe because they didn’t want to seem weak, maybe because they didn’t want the other to know old they felt, or maybe they just didn’t want to give words to the pain, ignoring it as a true Winchester would.

'Coffee,' Sam first word of the morning came out in a huff as he ran his hand through his hair and over his face the same way Dean had just done moments before.

'Mmmm,' was Dean’s only reply; and he pushed the key into the ignition and turned. The Impala came to life under his fingers and the rumble was just slightly too loud for the quiet snowy morning.


End file.
